There’s a question I get more than any other, and it always arrives a little shyly, as if the asker suspects there’s no real answer: How do you take something that small — a dish, a doorway, a name — and turn it into that?
I used to say I don’t know, it just happens. That was a lie of modesty. The truth is there’s a method. It doesn’t feel like a method while I’m inside it — it feels like weather — but when I slow it down and look, the same seven movements are there every time. I’ve never written them out before. This letter is the first time. Consider it the thing I’d tell you across the table if you asked me in person, with the good coffee, no one else in the house.
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Platnumkitty 